Love is War
by S.R. Wells
Summary: Soulmates AU. They say that your Soulmate, the one you are destined for forever, is the one person that you can look at and truly see their soul. In all of the fairy tales, they end up together and it's happily ever after with no questions asked. But John knows better than that. He's seen what Soulmates can do to each other. He isn't particularly looking forward to meeting his.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I stayed up way late in the night to finish this on Sunday. This is my first finished piece for the Sherlock fandom. I've also started venturing into the M-rated zone. So, let me calm my beating heart and get my shield to fend off any negative things that might be said. This is Soulmate AU, and this particular form of soulmate bonding was inspired by the song _See Through_ by Pentatonix. It is Johnlock, soo... If you don't like that please don't read this and then flame me. It would be good for your blood pressure and for my own peace of mind... Well, I hope that you guys enjoy this! -S.R. Wells

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes in any variation. If I did... Some of the stuff that barely remains subtext, would no longer be subtext.

* * *

It was a strange phenomenon that doctors around the world couldn't quite explain, but they couldn't dispute that it didn't exist. The phenomenon had a large scientific name, but everyone just called it by its common name: the Soulmate Connection. The one person whose very _soul_ you could see. The one person whom you would be destined for, romantically, for life.

However that wasn't quite right, John thought. It was more like the one person who you were most compatible with. It didn't qualify as the instant and permanent love that everyone imagined. John knew this because of his sister and his years in the military. His sister, Harry, had met her Soulmate, Clara. They were happy together and they were soon married. John had hoped that with Harry finding her Soulmate the drinking would stop. It wasn't the case. John had to watch as they fought. Or rather read. Clara sent him many letters, asking for his help on getting through to his sister. None of his advice had worked though; they had ended up getting a divorce. That was when he had learn that though you might find your so-called true love, you had to work on the relationship to keep it afloat.

His other, painful, lesson about Soulmates had been in the military. John didn't realize how hard his heart could break for another person until he had been in the war zone. Bombs exploding and enemy patrols attacking them. He had been in the thick of it for a month before it happened the first time. When people first met their Soulmate, they got this funny look on their face. He had seen it once when a nurse had gone to tend to a new patient and ended up meeting her Soulmate in him. But the next time he saw it, it wasn't in some safe area.

It was in the middle of a fight. He was tending to a fallen soldier and had looked at the rest of the battle zone for a moment. Long enough to see the connection happen between a member of his squad and one of the enemy fighters. He watched as sadness passed on the enemy soldier's face before he raised his weapon and killed his Soulmate. John had flinched and looked away when the enemy soldier had cried out in pure agony at the other half of his soul being killed. That cry had haunted John for many nights, and if John was being truthful, it still haunted him now, joined by the exact same cry spoken in different voices and tones. That was when he learned that even if you found your Soulmate, you could still be enemies and kill each other.

Every day he was in the war zone, he prayed that he wouldn't meet his Soulmate in an enemy soldier. He prayed that he never met the surely brilliant soul that only he could see and then have to extinguish it. Serving in the military had squashed any childish romantic fantasies John had had as a child. There was no meeting your Soulmate and falling in love with them and having your love defeat all of the odds that were stacked against you. Love was War. And in War, Love didn't often live to see the end of the day. So, John prayed. Every night, he prayed that he would never see his Soulmate amongst the enemy.

His prayer was answered when he was shot in the shoulder. It hurt like hell and got him sent from the war zone. He was pulled out of duty, permanently. It was the fact that he was being sent back to London that he had an issue with. London was nice, but it wasn't the military. It wasn't travelling and a constant thrill of danger and adventure. It was boring. It was even worse when he was assigned a counselor for his 'war traumas' and his bloody limp that shouldn't exist. He was shot in the shoulder, not in his leg. Yet, he had physical therapy for his shoulder and a cane for his leg that felt like it had been shot.

John still remembered waking up one morning and getting out of bed, only to collapse as pain shot through his right leg, bringing him to his knees. He had to get help to get back into his bed. It had been humiliating. He was bloody Captain John Watson, doctor of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers! Now, he was reduced to a broken man who needed help everywhere he went. It was sickening, and he worked hard to fix the situation. He exercised his shoulder so it could get good as soon as possible. Unfortunately, there was nothing technically wrong with his leg that they could fix. No. It was 'just a psychosomatic limp'.

So, John had to go to therapy to fix it. That made John want to shoot something. Every time he went, he was told to write a blog about his life. Nothing happened to him. So, every single bloody time he went back, he made a lie about how he was working on it. Then he would go back to his temporary flat and try not to think about how his pension fund wouldn't be able to support him living in London much longer. He couldn't bear to think of leaving London. The place reminded him of better times when he was young, not so disillusioned about life, and still in training.

With all of the shite that was going on with Harry and Clara's separation, John's mind turned to the thought of Soulmates. Sometimes he would turn Harry's old phone in his hands, rubbing his thumb over Clara's inscription, and stare off into the distance, his mind filled with agonized screams. Eventually, John decided to do some research on Soulmates. Which meant that he had to go through a lot of lovey-dovey dribble. It hurt him to read about so many success stories after he had seen firsthand how Soulmate pairs could harm each other. He kept reading them, though, because of the descriptions that rarely appeared, describing how beautiful it could be to look into your Soulmate's very being. Occasionally, there would be an artistic person that did their best to paint it. To say the least, the results were varying and mesmerizing.

It didn't make him feel very good when he was having one of his darker moments. He was rising in his thirties and hadn't met his Soulmate yet. Most people ended up meeting their Soulmate in their twenties. Once you went beyond that… Well, there was a reason people who never met their Soulmate dated and married. The chance that you would meet your Soulmate significantly decrease. It was due to the fact that your Soulmate could live in a remote country or even be dead. From what he had gathered from his studies, the pain that could occur from losing a Soulmate could often cause appendix ruptures and sometimes even heart attacks. John tried to have hope that because his appendix had never ruptured and he had never had a heart attack, his Soulmate was still out there. He did occasionally read stories of people being married in their fifties and divorcing because they had found their Soulmate. He read quite a few of those stories to give himself hope. It never worked.

His money was dwindling. He would have to move out soon. He stared at his computer and thought that if he read one more _bloody_ Soulmate story he would take his gun that had been misappropriated to him, and shoot himself in the head. John tapped his hand against his knee. There was no escaping it. He had to get out and have some fresh air before he did something crazy. He sometimes wondered about how much better it would be to live in prison. He only occasionally regretted his Hippocratic Oath. He sighed and grabbed his cane, heading out.

He shuffled along in Regents Park, keeping his head down. He couldn't perform surgery because of his now shaky hands which rather limited his options for making money. Maybe he could make it as a General Doctor?

"John! John Watson!"

It took John a second to recognize his name. He turned around, and then started a conversation with Mike Stamford that led to them sitting on a park bench with coffee. He was starting to warm up to Mike a little bit after the whole issue about John being shot had been covered. He laughed ruefully as Mike made a comment about teaching "bright young things, like we used to be". He wished that he was that young again. Eventually, the talk turned to flats.

"Yeah, like that's going to happen!" John bit out sarcastically. Harry wouldn't help him at all. In fact, he was lending _her_ money for her bad drinking habits.

Mike shrugged, "I don't know. Get a flat-share or something?"

He was an old army doctor. Was Mike being serious? "Come on! Who'd want me for a flat-mate?" he asked rhetorically.

Mike just chuckled like he knew something John didn't.

"What?" John asked half-curious and half-irritated.

Mike smiled, "Well, you're the second person to say that to me today."

John wasn't going to ask. There was no way he was going to get his hopes up. No. Never. Oh, who was he kidding? John couldn't help but ask, "Who was the first?"

Which led him to traversing the halls of St. Bart's hospital. Mike was being his chatty self, talking about his wife and children and then switching it to what John thought of the hospital. Honestly, John had replied, "Bit different from my day."

Mike had chuckled, "You've no idea!"

John was about to reply when he turned his gaze to the other person in the room. He froze. It was like the universe had been captured in the silhouette of a person. Black was the main background, but it was a comforting sort of black. It was covered with little specks of white and yellow. There was also a paint splatter of ghostly blue that had light blue mist surrounding and going through it. There was also a spider web of green mixed with a copper-colored red. There were hints of purple and other various colors, such as pink. It showed to John how complex and intelligent the person in front of him was. John's eyes were drawn to the spot where the other person's heart would be. In that spot there was something that looked like a cracked miniature red dwarf star that was constricted by a sickly shade of green. This person's heart had been hurt and rather badly it seemed; John could practically the sorrow and hurt echo in his own heart, mimicking the stranger's pain.

Not a stranger. John's Soulmate. John's eyes widened, and it was like another lense had been moved over the image John had seen. Now, John could see that his Soulmate was a rather attractive man with dark curly hair. He was wearing a very nice suit and appeared to be the exact opposite of John. Composed and above it all. John wished he could see what color his Soulmate's eyes were, but they were still locked onto whatever was in the petri dish. John almost wanted to shout for him to look up at him, but he was having some issues breathing. Strange. Had he stopped breathing?

"Mike, can I borrow your phone?" the tall man said with a deep baritone voice that had John's legs shaking. "There's no signal on –" his voice cut off as the man's delicious grey-blue eyes looked John's way. The man's eyes widen and his mouth opened slightly as if he had just seen something interesting.

John felt like he was stuck in place. Vaguely, from the corner of his eye, he saw Mike's understanding and his quiet retreat. John just stood there for what seemed like hours with the beautiful man staring at him. He had to say something. "Uh, h-hi?" was what creaked out of his throat. Dammit.

The man's eyes refocused, and John could see the protective gray blanket that covered his Soulmate's soul. The man looked him up and down with a flick of his eyes and then met his eyes, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John was confused. What was he talking about? John cleared his throat, "Sorry?"

The man rolled his eyes, "Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?"

Somewhere in his brain, a connection was made and John realized that the man was talking about where John had served, "Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know?" Had Mike told the man?

His Soulmate ignored the question, "How do you feel about the violin?"

Was meeting your Soulmate usually this much of a shock that he was forgetting parts of a conversation or was this man leaping ahead of him in changing thought processes? John felt like he should probably apologize for his slowness, "I'm sorry, what?"

The man started to quickly type on the laptop computer, "Can I have your mobile phone for a second?" He held a hand out.

Wordlessly, John handed it to the man.

The man quickly accepted it and sent off a quick message before giving it back to John.

"Thanks?" John mumbled, confused, putting his phone in his pocket.

The man went back to typing, "I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes, I don't talk for days on end." He finished typing and turned to look at John, "Would that bother you? Potential flat-mates should know the worst about each other," he gave John a very tight and fake smile.

John frowned at that, "Who said anything about flat-mates?"

The tall man stood up and fluidly went to put his long black coat on, "I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flat-mate for. Now, here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap," the man finished, sounding modest.

When the man put it like that, it did sound rather obvious. But still… "How _did_ you know about Afghanistan?"

Once more John's question was ignored, as the man wrapped a blue scarf around his neck and checked his phone, "Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it." He walked towards John, his face momentarily curious, "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock." Brown flashed against his Soulmate's soul, "Sorry. Got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary," he headed for the door.

John was a little confuse and a bit annoyed. He had just met his Soulmate. Usually, there was some sort of introduction, when you weren't enemies in the middle of battle anyways. In a bit of an unexpected twist, he was now apparently going to move in with his Soulmate. Not that he had any objections to it. John was just irritated that none of his questions were being answered, "Is that it?"

The man pause and turned around to walk back to John, "Is that what?"

John could barely keep the note of incredulity from his voice, "We've only just met and we're going to go and look at a flat?"

The man raised one eyebrow at him in a way that should not make John want to push him up against the nearest flat surface and thoroughly snog him, "Problem?"

John just smiled at him in disbelief, "We don't know a thing about each other: I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name!"

His Soulmate gave him a piercing look and started to speak in a shockingly fast manner, "I know you're an Army doctor home from Afghanistan and you're currently invalid. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him: possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid."

John looked at his leg as it twinged painfully. He frowned and shuffled awkwardly, trying to relieve the sudden pain.

Sounding smug, he said a little bit breathlessly, "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" He tilted his head a little bit, "The address is Two-Two-One-Bee Baker Street. And the name," he leaned into John's personal space, "is Sherlock Holmes." Looking deeply into John's eyes, he leaned forward to give John probably one of the hottest and most exciting kiss he'd ever experienced.

John felt a deep pull in his lower gut and his heart felt like it was soaring into the sky with joy. John deepened the kiss, and their tongues started a delicious dance.

Thoroughly out of breath, Sherlock pulled back with a dark and hungry look in his eyes. With a voice deepened with desire, he carefully drawled out, "If I didn't have to get my riding crop and quickly go apprehend someone, I would love to continue that kiss." His tongue wetted his lip and John realized that he was starting to develop a large problem in his pants. Sherlock gently bit his bottom lip and John became aware of a twitch from his nether regions. Sherlock gave John a smile that made John realize that Sherlock knew _exactly_ what he was doing. Sherlock smirked unapologetically and quickly said, "Afternoon," before fleeing out of the room.

John stood still for a few seconds, before he had to lean against something and catch his breath. He stood there with his hand resting above where his heart was pounding as his brain did its best at understanding what had just happened. After a while he came to this muttered conclusion, "Bloody hell. Am I going to have to deal with that for the rest of my life?" He didn't know if he should be pleased beyond belief or downright fearful. He felt like he was leaning more towards being pleased beyond belief. Whatever might happen, John felt like living with Sherlock was going to be one of the most adventurous things he had ever done.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I have read your reviews, and I am here to deliver. I've actually been working on and off on this second part. For a while, I had forgotten that I had already written over half of it. It took me a little bit before I managed to find this again and continue to work on it. Originally, I was going to post this on the first year anniversary of the first part, but it didn't. Now that I have finished it, I was contemplating waiting another 3 days so that I could post it on the two year anniversary. However, I decided that I have made you all wait long enough for the second part. So, without further ado, enjoy the second part of Love is War! -S.R. Wells

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes in any variation. If I did, Sherlock and John would be married by now.

* * *

It was a strange phenomenon that doctors around the world couldn't quite explain, but they couldn't dispute that it didn't exist. The phenomenon had a large scientific name, but everyone just called it by its common name: The Soulmate Connection. The one person whose very _soul_ you could see. The one person whom you would be destined for, romantically, for life.

However, that wasn't quite right, Sherlock thought. It was more like the one person who you were most compatible with. It didn't qualify as the instant and permanent love that everyone imagined. Sherlock didn't need to look at the details to deduce that fact. He had seen it plainly throughout his life.

Sherlock was traveling through the United States of America when he had encountered Mrs. Hudson. She was kind and sweet to him; something he hadn't felt since he was a small boy with Mummy. She treated him fairly and didn't chastise him for the secrets he could reveal just by looking a person up and down. She had laughed and gossiped: telling Sherlock what she thought was going on with the people around them and then having him tell her how close she was to the truth. They had done that for a while until a man with graying black hair and cold blue eyes had approached Mrs. Hudson and ordered her to come back home. That was when Sherlock had looked closer at her and saw the fear in her body language –her submissive behavior as she followed the man meekly, giving Sherlock a weak smile and a wave when the man wasn't looking.

Needless to say, Sherlock had stayed in Florida for a while. He visited Mrs. Hudson and noticed the marks. He was obsessed with mystery which entangled with crimes. Crimes that Mycroft provided him files on so long as Sherlock curbed his drug habits. Sherlock knew what it looked like when someone had been beaten. Sherlock wanted to hunt down the man with lifeless eyes and make him pay for what he did to sweet Mrs. Hudson, but she wouldn't let him.

"He's my Soulmate, Sherlock, dear," she grasped his arm so he wouldn't leave, "He loves me."

 _He loves me._

Sherlock knew that they both heard the doubt in her voice, "Then he shouldn't beat you."

He watched first hand as the beatings got worse until Mrs. Hudson finally allowed him to help. Mr. Hudson had many crimes lined up against him. Murder. Drug cartel. Mafia. The list went on. However, abuse of one's Soulmate was one of the heavier crimes. The ultimate sentence would be the death penalty. When Mrs. Hudson was asked about whether she wanted to let her husband live, she just looked at Sherlock with watery eyes that spoke of the horrors she had suffered at the hand of the one who was supposed to love and cherish her for forever and always. Sherlock found her a nice support group for those individuals whose Soulmates had died.

That was how Sherlock realized that the fairy tales he had heard growing up were lies. You had to work in the relationship with your Soulmate to make sure it was healthy because if it wasn't… Soulmates could abuse each other in relationships much like those who weren't Soulmates.

It was years later, when he was helping Lestrade with some difficult cases, that Sherlock discovered more about the existence of Soulmates. He had deleted most of the boring information he had learned about Soulmates in school. But there were a few things that were hard to erase. More specifically: The Look.

He had just saved some poor woman from being murdered and was lingering around telling Lestrade how he had known how to find the woman here when Sherlock saw it. A new Sergeant was approaching the woman when he froze with a look of awe on his face that was mirrored by the woman. _Soulmates,_ was the whisper that spread as the police took a step back for a few minutes so that the two could be better acquainted.

"I wish I had that kind of connection with my wife," Lestrade murmured to him.

Sherlock didn't have the heart at the moment to tell him that his wife was sleeping with his neighbor and was planning on divorcing him.

The next time his had witnessed the Look between Soulmates while he was investigating only showed him how cruel it was to have a Soulmate.

Sherlock had found a small house that had a supply of drugs and weapons when he was working with the police on a gang related murder. Lestrade and a few of his men stopped by with the preliminary forensics people. Unfortunately, the gang members who were in charge of the house had come home before more of the police could arrive. One of the gang members came in with a knife as he glared around at the intruders. Sherlock only felt a bad feeling in his guts when the eyes of one of the detectives locked onto the gang member. The two shared a look as they realized they were each other's Soulmate. Hell broke loose shortly after. Somehow the gang member had managed to get a lucky slash in with his knife and had killed his Soulmate.

Sherlock wasn't surprised to find that he had later committed suicide. It wasn't easy having one's Soulmate die, much less killing them yourself. Having a Soulmate was not a guarantee for a happy story book ending.

Most of the endings were horrific.

There were plenty of criminals who cared nothing about their Soulmate and often would do despicable things to them that would make an ordinary man vomit and become enraged. Sherlock was not ordinary which was why he became addicted to cocaine.

Cocaine cleared his head. It allowed him to think faster –to solve cases faster. Less dead, injured, or raped Soulmates. It also took him to new heights where he didn't have to think about how horrible it was to have a Soulmate. There were no happy endings.

It was after one case when _it_ happened. A madman captured Soulmate couples and tortured one to make the other feel their pain before killing one and brutally raping the other. Sherlock had solved it. But over six pairs of Soulmates had lost their lives. The last pair were alive, _barely._ One of them had his leg chopped off and the other one almost died because he was too afraid to let anyone approach him to patch up the large cuts scattered over his body.

Sherlock couldn't help but think that maybe he could have figured out the pattern sooner and saved more lives. As it was... the family of one of the victims had managed to find him once the case was over.

" _Why didn't you save them!"_

" _You let them die!"_

" _You monster! Why didn't you find him sooner!"_

Their words kept echoing in his head. Haunting him. The only thing he could think of was cocaine. But they kept on haunting him. He tried a little bit more. According to his calculations, he should have been fine. Nevertheless, he had made a mistake with the dosage that almost ended his life. Instead, it had ended him in a rehab facility.

When he got out, he had discovered that Mycroft and Lestrade were Soulmates. Apparently, his drug overdose had finally caused them to meet in person and not over the telephone.

They were happy, and Sherlock did his best to ignore them both as he worked through cases. He didn't want to see them fall into ruin. Surprisingly, after many months, the two were still fine. Unfortunately, the sight of the two lovebirds caused Mummy to start pressuring Sherlock to find his Soulmate.

It was when his family cut off his access to his trust fund until he settled down that Sherlock decided to do some more research on Soulmates. He gagged at what he read. Sherlock was almost certain that the romantic fools who wrote some of the blogs had mental issues. However, he encountered a number of stories of Soulmates who had found each other, fell in love, and lived happily ever after. Sherlock was confused by the mixed data he had of first-hand experience and the stories shared online. Sherlock was intrigued when he first stumbled upon a description of how incredible it was to see your Soulmate's soul for the first time. The poems some wrote about looking into another's being were all despicably cheesy but the descriptions in them were all different. In his research, Sherlock had stumbled over some fanciful paintings that had been made to showcase what their loved one's soul looked like.

In the end, Sherlock decided to delve into the more scientific information. Most Soulmates discovered each other in their twenties. Once an individual went beyond the age of thirty, it was highly unlikely that you would encounter your Soulmate. Thus, many people got married and had kids. Like Lestrade had with his ex-wife. However, Lestrade also represented a minority of people who did end up finding their Soulmate despite their old age. The divorce statistics for those who had married someone who was not their Soulmate but later found their Soulmate was astronomically high.

Sherlock tried to twist the facts so that Mummy would leave him be. Mycroft had intervened and delivered counter evidence.

That was why Sherlock was now on the lookout for a flat-mate. Mrs. Hudson had so graciously offered him a discount in her home located at 221B Baker Street. He had moved a lot of his equipment and other belongings in already, but thanks to Mycroft's conniving with Mummy, he needed someone to split the rent with.

Sherlock arrived at St. Bart's to do some research in a bad mood, which did not improve when bumping into the perpetually cheerful Mike Stamford.

"What's got you in such a horrible mood today?" Mike questioned him.

Sherlock knew from experience that Mike would not stop pestering him until he had gotten some sort of answer, "I'm running out of money to stay at the apartment I am currently renting."

Mike looked at him quizzically, "Why don't you get a flat-mate?"

Sherlock already knew how dismally dim the general populous was, but occasionally their stupidity rose to new bounds that surprised even him.

Sherlock gave Mike a glare, "You know how much people loathe me. Do you know how small of a probability it is for me to find a flat-mate who will not serve as a constant annoyance or who won't run away after a day of living with me?" Normal people always had strange issues with the experiments he performed. He shook his head at Mike and started to head down the hallway again, "I have a corpse waiting for me."

As he continued his day, Sherlock inwardly was debating possible ways of sifting through the numerous amounts of idiots living in London to find one who could be a flat-mate he could endure living with. It was a predicament that was distracting to him even as he beat a corpse, _just arrived, sixty-seven, died of natural causes_ , with his riding crop to look at the bruise patterns.

He stopped to jot down a few things in a note book as Molly said something about having a bad day, which he ignored. He had a few other things he needed to look at, so he turned to Molly to say, "I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."

Molly suddenly spoke, "Listen, I was wondering… maybe later, when you're finished ..."

Maybe Sherlock had been spending too much time reading up on Soulmates and other sentimental pieces of shite, but he thought that she might be hitting on him. Again. He thought he had nipped it in the bud a while back… but no. She was wearing lipstick that wasn't there before, "Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before."

She fidgeted saying, "I, er, I refreshed it a bit." She gave him a flirtatious look.

He gave her a blank look, wondering how she managed to keep getting up the courage to attempt to flirt with him. Maybe she might consider being his flat-mate? He turned back to writing in his notebook. He could not believe he had just thought of something so foolish. Not only would he probably kill her cat within the first week of her living with him, thus causing her to not want to let him see corpses more readily and possibly stop giving him body parts; if she became his flat-mate, Molly would surely take that as some sort of romantic advancement. Detestable.

Sherlock realized that she was still looking at him, "Sorry, you were saying?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Molly gazing at him intently. Likely trying to gage his possible reactions to whatever she would say next.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee," she finally said.

He put his notebook away and decided that pretending to be clueless and somewhat rude was the best course of action right now, "Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs."

He then left for one of St. Bart's many labs for a few other tests he had to run for his current case. He was dropping some liquid into a petri dish to identify the reaction when Mike entered with a friend.

"Bit different from my day," the friend, _male_ , stated.

Mike chuckled, "You have no idea."

Sherlock ignored them as he finally had the last piece to the case he was working on. Now, he just needed to send the information off to the Detective Inspector. He tried not to frown as he remembered that the signal on his phone did not work in this particular laboratory.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone?" he asked knowing that Mike wouldn't mind him borrowing it. "There's no signal on –" his voice inadvertently cut off as he finally looked up at Mike's friend.

It was unbelievably incredible.

There was obviously a man standing where he was looking, but he couldn't see the man. He could only see his silhouette and the strange image captured inside.

Fire and ice clashing against each other like arguing parts in a symphony, yet coming together perfectly. Both of the sharps clashes of red and the white-blue were supported by a steadying mixture of brown and green that reminded Sherlock of the woods with their fertile soil. It was a symphony of the elements that was rounded off by a gentle light blue mist that made him think of a light breeze that caressed your face. This mist that surrounded the fire and ice, moving with the earth illogically felt to him like it had a healer's spirit. But as beautiful as the image was there wear some dark rips in the moving colors –slightly leaking into the colors in a bitter navy blue. Sharp traumas that bled of world weariness into an otherwise electrifying soul. He was enthralled as he stared into such an interesting soul.

"Uh, h-hi?" came out of the other man's mouth, ripping Sherlock out of whatever trance he was in.

As interesting of a soul that the man in front of him had, Sherlock was no fool. This man might be his Soulmate, but there was no assurance that they would even be able to stand each other. He hardened his heart as he felt his eyes adjust to look at the man's physical appearance.

He was a short man with sandy blond hair who was wearing a checkered shirt with a jacket on. He actually wasn't that bad looking, but Sherlock ignored that fact to look at the small details that would reveal to him who the man in front of him was. The haircut and posture obviously indicated that he was in the military. Judging by the conversation the man was having with Mike upon entering, he was likely trained as a doctor at St. Bart's. A military doctor. As for where he had been stationed… His face was tanned but there wasn't a tan above the wrists. Obviously, he was stationed abroad because a man couldn't get a tan like that unless he was outside, likely in uniform. No sunbathing apparently… He needed more specifics like… like the cane the shorter man was holding in his right hand. When the man had entered, the sound of his steps had indicated a terrible limp; however, the man didn't request a chair upon entering. That could be the shock of seeing your Soulmate, but the man's posture indicated that he forgot about needing a chair more often than this. He was used to standing. A psychosomatic limp, perhaps? Whatever the original circumstances were, they were obviously very traumatic. Sherlock ignored the pain in his chest as his mind recalled the bitter navy blue in his Soulmate's soul. Wounded in action with a suntan. He recalled the places where one in the military might have experienced war. Afghanistan or Iraq.

Why was he here right now? It was clear that he was discharged because of the injury. He most likely had a therapist if he had a psychosomatic limp. Not a very good one clearly if he still had the limp. But why was that? Sherlock ran through everything that had happened today. Mike. He had commented to Mike about needing a flat-share. Calculating military pension… The man was likely running out of money. Mike saw it as an opportunity to help an old friend of his and brought the man here to Sherlock. Besides the fact that he had now found himself his flat-mate, which would appease Mummy into returning his trust fund, the man probably would be a good flat-mate. He was a military doctor and likely wouldn't get squeamish over Sherlock's experiments. He appeared to be level-head and not an activist of some sort that would criticize what he did to bodies for his cases. He probably had a strong moral compass that would be easily encouraged to help out the police. Possibly a need for adventure and excitement, based on his choice of joining the military, which would be satisfied by Sherlock's desire for only interesting cases.

Quite promising. But first he had to check his theories and test to make certain that they were compatible.

He flicked his eyes back up to meet the other man's blue eyes, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

The man cleared his throat in confusion, "Sorry?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at how slow the man was being, "Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?"

A light seemed to go off in the man's eyes even though there was still some confusion there, "Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know?"

Afghanistan. Interesting. At least the man was starting to catch up. Though… He needed more information if he was going to become a flat-mate to this ordinary seeming man. There had to be more than the obvious kindly look, where was the passion?

"How do you feel about the violin?" he was searching for more information and to see how fast he could irritate the man.

The man frowned at the sudden change, "I'm sorry, what?"

Either the man was being dense, or he possibly was wondering about the sudden shift in topic. Sherlock returned to typing a few results on the computer. He needed more information, and he also needed to text Lestrade. Wasn't there some saying about killing two birds with one stone? Strange that he hadn't deleted the phrase somewhere along the line.

"Can I have your mobile phone for a second?" he asked as he held out his hand.

The man silently handed it over to him. Apparently, strange requests wouldn't phase him that much. That was a good thing. Sherlock gazed down at the phone briefly. It was an expensive item. Something that a man looking for a flat-share shouldn't be able to afford, but it was covered with scratches that a frugal army man would be careful not to make. There was an inscription on it:

Harry Watson

From Clara

Xxx

Could the man in front of him be Harry? No, there was no signs that he was in a relationship with someone. Likely a male relative had given him the phone. Not a father or grandfather because the phone was a younger man's gadget. A cousin perhaps? Not very likely. It would most likely be a brother who would be close enough to give it to him. But why? The likely answer was Clara. Three kisses says that Clara and Harry had a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone indicated that she was his wife, not girlfriend. The model of the phone was new. If Sherlock remembered correctly, six months ago was when the phone was released. Clara must have given the phone to him recently. But the phone was now in this man's possession. Probable that their marriage was trouble. The phone was six months old and he'd just given it away. But why? If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People did that because of sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. Why? There was a lot of scratches near the power connection. His hands were probably shaking whenever he plugged it in for the night. The man in front of him didn't appear to have any trouble with shaky hands. His brother could have just been clumsy. On the other hand, he could have been a chronic drunk. Yes, that would explain the marriage having issues. Probably didn't want his wife interfering with his drinking. Harry had given the phone to the blue-eyed man most likely because he wanted the man to stay in touch. But the man was looking for a flat-share indicating that he wasn't going to his brother for help. Why would the man do that unless he had an issue with his brother: the drinking or his brother breaking it off with his wife?

Sherlock quickly thumbed his way to recent text messages and found a name for the man in front of him: John Watson. Rather common. But it seemed to fit him. Sherlock went back to typing in Lestrade's number and sending off a text that read:

If brother has green ladder

arrest brother.

-SH

He then handed the phone back to John before he continued typing. He was almost finished with some of the tests he was running.

"Thanks?"

"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes, I don't talk for days on end." He finished typing and turned to look at John, "Would that bother you? Potential flat-mates should know the worst about each other." He gave John one of his tight, faked smiles. He didn't plan on charming the man in front of him to get what he wanted. This man was his Soulmate. If Sherlock was going to become a flat-mate to him, he didn't want to go through the torture of acting like someone he wasn't. The bonus would be that if John didn't react well to his true personality, Sherlock would easily find out and get rid of the man. There wasn't much that could be hidden from him; he didn't like wasting his energy on things that would have no long-term benefit to him, at least when it came to people.

John frowned at the smile, "Who said anything about flat-mates?"

Sherlock approved that John didn't seem to appreciate the obviously faked smile. He stood up and fluidly went to put his long black coat on, "I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flat-mate for. Now, here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap."

"How did you know about Afghanistan?" the man had a strong sense of curiosity.

Sherlock was already starting to warm up to the man. For a moment, he wondered if the Soulmate Connection was causing him to appreciate this man faster than he normally would. It would be worthwhile to analyze his reactions later, when he wasn't in a rush. For now, he would test how long this John Watson would be able to go without knowing the answer to his question. Sherlock wrapped a blue scarf around his neck and checked his phone, "Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it." He walked towards John, curious about how well they would work out in the future. He found himself hoping that they would be able to. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock." Sherlock remembered that he had left his riding crop in the mortuary where he might bump into Molly, "Sorry. Got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." Sherlock headed for the door hoping that he wouldn't bump into Molly. If she had run into Mike, she would likely know that he had just found his Soulmate. He didn't want to have to deal with a teary, disappointed Molly. It would be annoying and also bad that it might affect his ability to gain body parts. But there was always a chance that Mike and Molly's paths didn't overlap.

"Is that it?" John sounded annoyed.

"Is that what?" Sherlock paused and turned around to walk back to John, whose soul was flaring up in reds and white-blues. He was becoming agitated. Would he lash out? What exactly was the problem his Soulmate was having?

"We've only just met and we're going to go and look at a flat?" There was disbelief in his voice. Disbelief that this was happening so quickly? More information needed.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Problem?" John's soul surged with colors moving with bright intensity. He wasn't showing any tells of becoming violent, what was the meaning of the sudden change in all of the colors his soul was displaying?

John smiled at him with incredulity, "We don't know a thing about each other: I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name!"

He did make a fair point. It appeared that he could go a little bit longer than most when it came for answering a question. Sherlock was tempted to throw the data out though because they were Soulmates. He wasn't stupid enough to think that that wouldn't have any sort of impact on the way this man would react to him. Some part of him, largely ignored before now, wanted to see what sort of reaction he could pull from this man. He wanted to see his colors flair again. He wanted to see everything that made up the man in front of him and understand it. He quickly tried to derail himself from that unexpected line of thought and jumped into the familiar mode of deduction while he hoped that the rapid beating of his heart didn't make him speak faster than he normally would.

"I know you're an Army doctor home from Afghanistan and you're currently invalid. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him: possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid."

John looked at his leg. He frowned and shuffled awkwardly in what was an attempt to relieve pain.

Sherlock wanted to smirk. He was clearly right. He was breathless as he spoke, "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" He tilted his head a little bit as the man's colors surged again, "The address is Two-Two-One-Bee Baker Street. And the name," he leaned into John's personal space with a desire to see how he would react, "is Sherlock Holmes." The man's colors were going wild. It excited Sherlock; he found himself acting on instinct and curiosity. Looking deeply into John's eyes, he leaned forward to give John a kiss.

Sherlock felt heat flow through him as John deepened this kiss. As their tongues started a delicious dance, Sherlock came to the conclusion that this was much more enjoyable than any other kiss he'd had before. His higher functions broke through roaring primal desire to kindly let him know that this was likely a bad idea because the facts still weren't properly lined up that the man in front of him would make an appropriate flat-mate, much less Soulmate. Primal desire not-so-kindly disagreed, and rational thought shook his finger back and forth in a scolding manner while whispering about a riding crop.

Thoroughly out of breath, Sherlock pulled back fighting against the hunger he was feeling. With his voice deepened with desire, he carefully drawled out, "If I didn't have to get my riding crop and quickly go apprehend someone, I would love to continue that kiss." His tongue wetted his lip. Sherlock noticed that the man was starting to develop a surprisingly big problem in his pants, one which Sherlock was reciprocating. He wanted to know if he could subtly encourage this desire. Sherlock gently bit his bottom lip, and John's face became a deeper shade of red as his pulse picked up even more speed. Sherlock smiled, and a look of realization dawned on John's face. He caught on quickly, but it was good. He needed a smart man by his side who didn't get too badly upset when Sherlock strung him around. Sherlock smirked unapologetically and quickly said, "Afternoon," before fleeing out of the room before Molly would walk in with coffee.

Sherlock tugged his coat around him so that no one would take notice of his erection, though he thought that none of them would be that observant enough to notice. He couldn't help but smile when he thought of how much fun he could get up to with this John Watson. A woman in a lab coat took a look at him and hurried on ahead with a fearful look on her face. Sherlock didn't care. There was something new and exciting in his life, and he was more than willing to see what would come of it. If something bad did happen, Sherlock was confident that he would be able to move past it. He felt invincible at the moment. He entered the room and grabbed his riding crop quickly. Things were looking up for him.


End file.
